20th Anniversary of Peace
by Zellarest
Summary: Alice Mellark, daughter of District 12 Victors of the 74th Hunger Games Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, has to go to the 20th Annual Anniversary of Peace that celebrates the peace between the districts as well as the Capitol. Due for revision.


**Hello! Yes, back again. This is what I write when I'm at a block with my other stories. Go figure. Due to be improved, just wanted to see if you guys like it. T for mild language and bare flirting of a 40+ man with a 15 year old girl. I own nothing besides my OCs. Enjoy!**

P.S. Your not out of the loop in the beginning, it's my version of a characterization developement and opening.

The dream is more like a memory. The sun shines brightly, making all the colors of the flowers stand apart from the army of healthy grass. I grin as I catch sight of a small girl, possibly ten, with straight dark hair, olive skin, and eyes like pools of sky running from a younger boy. The boy, a small child, daudles after her, head of ashy blonde curls, pale skin, and clear grey eyes wide with happiness. I notice two adults watching over them, grinning like they were in the best place they could think of. The woman, with straight dark hair, olive skin, and clearly grey eyes was watching them with an obvious sense of pure joy. Mom. The man has ashy blonde curls and eyes like pools of sky. He smiles like he's the happiest person in the world. Dad!

I am obviously not seen, as no one pays me the slightest mind. I try to touch my mother's arm, but it sinks straight through, like she is condensed mist.

"Mommy, look!" the girl trills excitedly, running to her parents. Her sibling trails after her as she presents a flower to them. The lavender flower is dainty like her, and delicate as air. The man smiles, the completely opposite reaction of the woman who pales considerably.

"A primrose." the woman whispers blankly. I frown, confused at her reaction as Dad's smile falters as he says reassuringly to the girl,

"It's beautiful, Alice." and even through her confused expression, identical to mine, a smile finds its way onto her lips.

"Lemme see it!" the boy whines, butting in and reaching for the flower. Dad frowns at the two, who start yelling and bickering over the flower. I smile, watching them closely.

"Finn, stop." Dad chides softly. "If you don't, there won't be any flower left now, will there?" he says gently, scooping up the boy and placing him on his knee. The girl, Alice, hands him the flower as if it is a delicate treasure. She then cautiously nears her mother, a curious look in her wide orbs.

"Mommy? Are you okay?" Alice asks timidly, eyeing her mother with a dizzyingly adorable stare. The woman smiles gently, as if saddened by some thought.

"My sister, your aunt, was named after a primrose. An evening primrose." she tells her wistfully, most definitely saddened by whatever thoughts her mind is conjuring. Alice gains a, however cute, confused expression.

"But, mommy." the girl interrupts. "I don't have an Aunt Primrose. Only Aunt Annie and Aunt Delly. Oh, and Aunt Johanna." she adds, smiling coyly.

"Yes, you are very right. Your auntie Prim died in the w..." she trails off and casts a desperate look to her husband, who mouths the word, '_young_'. "-early years of her life."

Alice eyes her mother with suspicion, but shrugs it off.

"Alice?" my mother says, but her mouth isn't moving. I stumble in the dream, and everything spins.

"Alice." my mother says again. I can't find the source.

The dream-memory starts to evaporate, disappearing before my eyes.

"Alice!" my mother snaps impaitently. My eyes flutter open, catching sight of her at the foot of my bed. I groan; the dream was _soo_ nice.

"What?" I mutter grumpily. My mother frowns, and I have a feeling what she's about to do next.

The covers fly off, gusting a huge cold wind right onto me. I shiver instantly, hissing involuntarily.

"Mom!" I yell, trying to find anything to recover myself with as I'm only in a loose tee-shirt and underwear. She tuts amusedly, and I feel cheated. Or, outsmarted is more like it.

"Get up!" she demands impaitently. "The twentieth Anniversary of Peace is today, and if I have to- hem- _we_ have to go, your coming too." she orders, opening up the shades.

"Gah! It's so useless! It's a day to remind people of something that already happened!" I whine, getting up to find myself some dignity- I mean, pants.

"Well, some eople need reminding." Mother says softly, most likely thinking of Uncle Finnick and Aunt Primrose.

As she is drifting, I slip off my loose shirt, put on an evergreen button-up shirt and worn jeans. As she comes to, I slip on some socks and grey nylon shoes with rubber soles.

"You should get going, it's nearly seven thirty. Did you think about Wi-" she asks, but I cut her off sharply.

"Yes, I thought about it." I say curtly, grabbing my bow and sheath of arrows. I prefer a knife in combat, if the need ever present itself though it has never before, but I can't as well walk up to a kill with a knife and go '_Hi! Oh don't worry about me, just taking a walk. Right next to you. So, how about this weather?_'

"But... if he asks-" she starts softly, but she of all people knows how stubborn I am.

"I'll say no. End of line." I shoot, brushing past her to leave my room. She is close on my heels.

"Alice Primrose Mellark!" Mother scolds, grabbing my wrist. I bite back a protest, that I don't appreciate my full name, much less in such a scalding tone.

"He obviously didn't mean it. I'm sure if you actually _listened to him_ you'd understand. He's a good kid." she tries to convince me. I can't help it, my sarcastic side gets the better of me.

"You only think he's good because you had a soft spot for his dad." I mutter, and in her shock she releases my wrist. I take my chance and head for the stairs, but before I reach the first landing, my mother suddenly catches my wrist again, lightly this time.

"How did you know that?" she blurts, eyes wide. Not in fear (like if I were to tell Dad) but in surprise (like she thought I would never find out).

"Will told me." I say, insulted that she thought I wouldn't find out eventually. She releases my wrist.

"Go," she looks at her watch, sighing. "Your already fifteen minutes behind. Grab toast, and be sure to be back by nine. The train leaves at ten-thirty." she recites, almost blankly. I nod, thinking how stupid it is we have to go all the way to the Capitol for an anniversary.

"Right. Don't forget to put Rue's hair in a contra-braid. Ribbon as well, she likes it that way." I tell her, even though she knows this well. "And don't forget to put Prim's hair back." I say, going backwards on the stairs now just to make sure she doesn't forget. She never does, even before I started telling her. But she listens, and I tell her.

"And don't for- _eep_!" Instead of walking backwards, I'm falling backwards down the steps. My mother reaches out for my outstretched hands, but her fingers barely brush the tips of mine. I brace myself for impact; shut my eyes, tense my muscles, check to make sure I probably won't break my neck... I feel impact, but not with the floor. Not with a stair. Firm, but yet not. Arms, possibly?

Oh, yes, arms. I confirm, opening my eyes to see my Dad's amused expression.

"Watch it there, Alice." he advises, carefully propping me back up on my feet. "Soon, you'll be as clumsy as your mother." he chuckles, and his laugh is infectious.

"You two are impossible." Mother breathes, face paler than normal.

...

"Avoid Haymitch!" Dad calls, tone one of seriousness. I frown; what's wrong with poor, drunk old Haymitch? Guy's a riot, and good company when he's sober enough.

"Sure sure." I call back, and I am competely sure he's sure that I'm not sure I won't go see Haymitch. I do, everyday, and I know he knows.

He is only two doors down, with Aunt Annie and her son Lorcan Odair in the middle. Lorcan's a tall, decidedly handsome guy who's a couple years, okay _fine!, _around five or so years older than me. His short golden blonde hair like his father's and so were his sea-green eyes. He playfully hits on me sometimes, but I don't like him, at least not like that.

Haymitch's slightly slurred speech interrupts my thoughts.

"Hey sweetheart! How's the boyfriend? Wass his name? Wilkins? Wildon?" he calls, smiling dangerously. Paunchy old man, curly dark hair, brightly dangerous grey eyes. You get the picture.

"Will." I answer, humouring him, walking the short distance to his porch step. He brightens as if the name has struck him.

"Wilbur, that's it. Ruddy old name if you ask me." he recalls, swinging a bottle of liquor around. It didn't sound more than half full.

"I didn't." I answer, a small smile hinting on the edge of my lips. He ignores me.

"Son of that big, brawny kid eh? Wass his name? Gald? Goldie?" he wonders aloud, smirkibg at the last one.

"Gale." I whisper, and this time I think he just didn't hear me.

"Gale! Weird kid." his eyebrows rise. "I hear he had a thing for your mother." I freeze, my jaw locked. What nerve he has mentioning the fact my mother might have kissed him once. Or twice... hell, I can't remember.

"So I've heard." I growl. He smirks smugly, as if impressed by his feat of making me mad. He comes a few steps closer and, instinctively, I take one back. His stench of liquor is dizzying.

"Have you now?" he drawls, making me cringe. "Are you sure you know the whole story?" he slurs, taking a step closer with each word. "Maybe your Mum left some key points out." he's so close, his stench absolutely sickening, making me want to puke. "Didn't want to spoil your innocence." he whispers, taking a group of strands of my dark hair, mere centimeters from my face, twirling it with his finger. In one swift move I have pushed him back and brandished my knife, holdng it in what I hope is an intimidating defensive position.

"Watch it Haymitch, I think you're a little bit too drunk to be toying with me." I snarl, and he blinks. He regains his sarcastic demeanor instantly, shooting back with an equally as insulting statement.

"You sure, sweetheart?"

Really, the guy has to be around fifty, give or take. How drunk does he have to be to hit on me, a fifteen-year-old girl?

"I'm done. End of line. Go drink away your sorrows and don't forget about the geese." I say curtly, putting away my knife. "See you in the Capitol, Haymitch."

"See you in the Capitol, sweetheart." he drawls sardonically, muttering something about '_damn geese_' as he wanders back into his house, slamming the door.

I sigh distastefully, shaking my head in dismay as I make my way to the woods. Leave it to Haymitch to get drunk on the day of a trip to the Capitol. He did it every year, every year more drunk than the last.

As I meander into the woods, I cast him from my mind. The mockingjays are singing, and this is when the world truly comes to peace.


End file.
